"Eddie," she replied, "I couldn’t. Not now, anyway. Perhaps--later. _I_ don’t know." "You mean--you think some day--it’s not _impossible_? You _could_, then? I mean--I’m not repulsive to you?" "Deary boy!" she protested. "Of course you’re not." "Do you think you could--kiss me?" he asked. "I’m going away to-morrow." She turned, put a hand upon his shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek. "There!" she said. "Now you see!" He didn’t move; stood there like a statue. "I guess we’d better go in," she said. "We’re getting wet; and I’ve got to pack up my things." To go home! She began for the first time to imagine her home-coming, to think of her future. This was all over; she would never get another such job, never again be in a house like this, never again have a chance like this! She began to think of the kitchen, of the factory, of their suppers of tea and bread and margarine, of her mother, listless and hopeless--all of it hopeless--even Vincent. What could he ever do for her, even if he had the inclination? Who was there on earth who cared to do anything for her, who could give her in any way the things she craved? Panic overwhelmed her. "Eddie!" she cried. "I--could!" He was suddenly galvanized into life. "Could?" he cried. "Could what?" "If you want--I’ll marry you!" His arms went around her, pressing her tightly against his coat. A smell of damp tweed and cigar-smoke filled her nostrils; she couldn’t see or move at all, her head was so buried in his clumsy embrace. "Oh, my darling!" he cried. "Oh, Angelica, to think that I have to go _now_!" "But I’ll be waiting for you," she said. CHAPTER SIXTEEN She stood on the front steps long after he was out of sight, lost in a painful reverie. The rain was still falling steadily and violently, without wind, from a pale gray sky. She watched it, absently, churning the gravel walk, splashing up again from the puddles. What a desolate and tremendous world that morning! Eddie was really gone. She had said good-by to that generous and loyal friend, had pressed his hand and tried to smile brightly after him. He hadn’t wanted her to go to the railway-station with him. "No," he had said. "Let’s say good-by here, in the place that’s going to be our home." He was in a bad state. He did all he knew to conceal it, but it was none the less apparent to her that he was deeply troubled by the thought of what lay before him, that he was most reluctant to go, unhappy, alarmed, and a little puzzled. He was ashamed of all this, he wished to be a man, like Vincent, and he naïvely believed that a true man was practically devoid of any emotion, except love and anger. Nevertheless, disturbed as he was, he didn’t for a moment neglect his beloved Angelica’s interests. He wished to know how she was to get on. "I’ll find another job," she said. He didn’t object; he really considered that it would be best for her to remain sturdily independent, under no obligation to him.